


the shame, always comes at the worst time

by Mrs_Moony



Series: daddy issues [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, references to 3x06, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Moony/pseuds/Mrs_Moony
Summary: It's unfair. That he gets to sleep so calmly. That he's not afraid.





	the shame, always comes at the worst time

 

**the shame, always comes at the worst time**

 

After about an hour of putting it off, Mickey stands up with a groan.

He starts rubbing the sleep from his eyes but stops when he feels the sharp pain, the hotness of it blurring his vision for a while. It's gonna take some time for his face to heal this time.

It's gonna take even more to forget.

Thankful for the fact that the bathroom is just one door away, Mickey rushes in and relieves himself, then steps into the shower without ever looking at his face.

The water is warmish at best, not really helping with the tremors in his hands, or the shivering, but it has to do. He dries himself off quickly and puts the shirt he slept in back on, subconsciously pressing it to his face to smell the now barely recognizable scent. As close to the real thing as he can get, Mickey thinks, letting Ian's shirt fall back down.

It's colder in the living room than he expected, probably due to the door being left wide open. He's about to go close it when he notices his dad lying on the couch, bottles of booze all around him, and a young hooker on the ground beside him. He's been bringing the Russian whores home every night, each time sending Mickey a smile, as if he was begging him to say something, to break.

But Mickey didn't. He knew there was no point, even when Ian refused to see that. He bowed his head and minded his business.

His eyes snap back to Terry when he snores, lying face-down with his pants pulled around his thighs and the stained tank top serving as a pillow. Mickey watches him twitch once, twice in his dreams, but he doesn't wake up, just mumbles something and sleeps peacefully.

It's unfair. That he gets to sleep so calmly. That he's not afraid.

Mickey knows the thoughts are dangerous – he's seen it himself a couple days ago what happens when a Milkovich kid allows himself to get stupid – but he can't stop them from flooding his mind.

He wants to see the same terror in his father's eyes which he has felt. He wants to see him hurting, desperate, broken.

A small part of his brain still respects him, and Mickey hates that part with a passion because the man in front of him doesn't deserve it. Not an ounce of it. He just wants to hate him, hate him enough to fucking stand up to him, enough to fight for the shreds of happiness which are slowly dissipating with every unanswered sentence Ian throws at him.

He doesn't even realize he's getting closer until he's standing right behind his dad, breathing heavily. Terry sleeps as if he was dead, barely moving his body, and for a second, Mickey imagines what it would be like.

To pick up a shred of glass and stab the bastard in the neck, let him bleed out like a pig and _watch_ , smiling…

The hooker on the ground moves and Mickey is out of there in a heartbeat.

He walks as fast as he can, trying to wipe the house behind his back from his mind. He lets his feet lead him where they want, barely paying attention to his surroundings, but he should have fucking known where he'd end up.

With a mixture of anger and guilt, he looks up at the Gallagher house.

Imagines walking inside and finding Ian there.

Imagines saying he's sorry, and that what happened there doesn't change anything. That before it happened, he'd been having the best night of his entire life so far. That he was a coward, and afraid, and that he doesn't want to hide anymore.

Mickey looks away, craving a drink. He starts walking towards his spot, where he's been spending most of his days lately, hoping the bottle would still be there.

Later, as he's triumphantly raising the bottle to his lips, an image appears in his head.

_Soft white sheets. Sun rays peeking inside. Pale skin and freckles. Laughing in between the kisses. Warm hands and shared secrets and holding hands and love and…_

He drinks.

 

**Author's Note:**

> another part!! this is happening long before the second fic, a couple days after 3x06. i have a couple more ideas but the timeline will be all over the place. hope you enjoy this one!! xx


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